


Until We Forgive

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bed-Wetting, Crying, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone's as forgiving toward the Winter Soldier as the Avengers.</p><p>Steve and Bucky argue about how to fix that, and Bucky Bear becomes an accidental hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Forgive

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> This installment of the series was partially inspired by comments from [babydraco](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/17639318) and [HikariQuadrophenia](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/17830574) on the previous story, _'Till the End of the Line._ This is also something of a set-up for readers who requested more Rumlow, such as [kellyc](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/17556773) and [angel_guerrera](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/17720870). Rumlow doesn't appear in this story proper, but he is talked about quite a bit.

**“When a deep injury is done us, we never recover until we forgive.”**  
—Alan Paton

  


Bucky Bear’s arm is falling off.

There’s a gap where there should be stitching holding his arm to his body; Bucky saw it when he was taking off the bear’s jacket to wash bubble solution from the fabric. Tasha said the hole wasn’t even an inch wide and Bucky Bear probably couldn’t feel it. But Bucky could see stuffing through the gap and Bucky started hyperventilating, so Clint offered to give medical assistance.

“Every Avenger’s had first aid training,” Tasha tells Bucky as Clint is setting up the surgical site on the couch. “Clint can do it.”

Bucky thinks that the training was probably not for bears, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Bucky Bear might hear him, and if Bucky Bear panics, that will make fixing his arm a lot harder and a lot more painful.

“Check it out, Bucky Bear.” Clint holds up one of his arrows, letting the bear examine it from all angles. “This? Is a numbing arrow. Usually I use these on bad guys, to keep them still so they can’t hurt anybody. But all I have to do is just tap the end of it on your arm here, and you won’t feel anything the whole time we’re doing the stitches, okay?”

Bucky Bear says okay, but Bucky has to repeat it. Bucky and Tasha are the only ones who speak Bear in the tower.

The tip of the arrow just barely touches Bucky Bear’s arm, right below the tear. Bucky Bear is very still and quiet. No one has to hold him in place.

“Good job,” Clint says. “We’ll just give that a minute to start working before I do the stitches. All right?”

There’s a swirl of color at the edge of Bucky’s vision. He turns his head to find bubbles drifting through the air. Tasha has the bubble wand in one hand and the bottle of solution in the other. She must have picked them up while Clint was using the arrow. “What are you doing?”

“Giving Bucky Bear something to look at,” she says, and then blows another stream of bubbles.

“I don’t think you can do that,” Bucky says. “It’s not clean.” Bucky Bear’s been through enough without infection or mildew on top of everything else.

“It’s made of like water and soap.” She waves the wand, a long bubble stretching out from behind it before bursting into hundreds of droplets. “It’s fine.”

“But—”

“All done,” Clint says, setting his needle down next to the arrow on the coffee table.

Bucky turns back to face him. “Huh?”

“Two stitches. Good as new. And he took it better than most full-grown grizzlies.” Clint high fives the paw of Bucky Bear’s opposite arm. “No heavy lifting for the rest of the day, though. Okay?”

After a few more seconds of staring, Bucky squirms between them on the couch. Clint settles back as Bucky gingerly runs a hand over the seam where Bucky Bear’s arm joins his body. He can’t tell where the old stitches end and the brand new ones start. “Can I hug him?” Bucky asks.

“Hugging,” says Clint, “makes teddy bears heal twice as fast.”

Bucky hasn’t yet picked the bear up before the door opens.

Daddy comes in. He’s wearing a suit. Maria Hill, who used to be a SHIELD agent and who now works for Tony, follows after Daddy. She’s also wearing a suit. They’ve been in court.

“Hello, Bucky,” Maria says. She’s smiling in a stiff sort of way. Maria is always very professional and very grown-up and reminds Bucky of Mary Poppins, but probably without magic. “How are you?”

“’Kay,” Bucky mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor. Maria’s nice, but he doesn’t know her very well and usually if she’s around it means something bad happened.

Daddy’s hand is on his shoulder, warm and very solid, and Bucky looks back up. “Hey,” he says. His voice is very, deliberately soft. “Can we talk to you for a little bit?”

Bucky nods, even though it’s not really him that they want to talk to. Not now. “Can I have a minute?” It’s hard to be himself right away when he’s nervous, and how can he not be nervous when Bucky Bear’s arm was coming off a few minutes ago? “Please?”

“Of course.”

*

In retrospect, Bucky should have seen the litigation coming.

Thanks to the recording capabilities of today’s telephones, the entire world has seen Steve Rogers apprehending the Winter Soldier. Of course law enforcement and government agencies would be among those watching. And maybe the Avengers could have claimed that they lost the Winter Soldier—say he broke free in transit, or was stolen away by a remaining HYDRA faction—but the photographs of Steve and Bucky outside FAO Schwarz, Bucky’s metal hand still visible in Steve’s grasp, killed any chance of denial.

It was stupid to think he could leave the past behind. Stupid to think he could just walk away with so much blood on his hands. But for seventy years he’d slept through any consequences of his actions. And then he was here and for once everything didn’t hurt, and he’d been foolish enough to believe it could last.

Steve knew it was coming long before Bucky did. Steve, as he’s since learned, had Maria and the rest of the legal team assembling a defense before the charges were even official.

There are many charges. Espionage, treason, conspiracy, reckless endangerment, destruction of property: Bucky’s lost track of how many counts they’ve brought against him. Save for the murders. There are fifteen counts of first degree murder. It’s less than half of all the people he’s slaughtered through the years; it’s not even all of his murders on American soil. It’s just all that was in the files Natasha leaked online.

There was a hearing today. Stark’s lawyers were trying to argue that Bucky wasn’t competent to stand trial. Technically, Bucky was supposed to be at that hearing. Technically, Bucky ought to be in custody. Either Maria is very good at her job or people don’t want to be responsible for keeping the Winter Soldier contained, because no one’s tried to remove Bucky from the tower. Even the interview meant to assess his competency to understand the legal proceedings had been handled through a computer.

Sooner or later, the other shoe had to drop.

“There’s going to be a trial,” Bucky says. It’s not a question. If the outcome of the hearing had been favorable, they would have told him right away.

Steve nods. He’s sitting. Bucky thinks that Steve wants him to sit as well. He doesn’t.

“We expected that,” Maria says. “It was worth attempting to spare you the stress, but we knew the chances of success were low.” She’s less tense now, resting her elbows on the table. Maybe she finds it easier to speak when she doesn’t have to worry about upsetting a frightened child with discussion of murder charges. Or maybe she just prefers talking to him when he’s slightly less broken and slightly less pathetic.

Bucky’s therapists would call that paranoia. But Bucky’s pretty sure his therapists prefer it as well. Except maybe for Sam. Sam was here the last time they talked to Bucky about the charges against him, for moral support, but now he’s spending Thanksgiving with the VA in DC. He won’t be back until next week.

“Just because you’re competent to understand the charges now,” Maria continues, “that doesn’t negate diminished capacity during your captivity, Bucky. We can continue with the defense we’d planned. We have access to the machine used to control you, partial HYDRA medical records, expert testimony on conditioning and manipulation. Your therapists will speak about the abuses you’ve recounted—”

“You don’t have to testify,” Steve says, suddenly and forcefully. His hands are clenched on the arms of his chair, knuckles white, as though he’s gearing up for a fight. “No one can make you, Buck.”

“Absolutely.” Maria settles back in her own chair. “It’s in your best interests if you don’t take the stand, since we’re making the case that you weren’t in control of your actions. So there’s not much you could say in your favor that your therapists’ testimony won’t cover, and the prosecution would tear you a—”

“Is it going to be a public trial?” Bucky asks. He’s migrated to the window. Far below on the street, there are journalists and news crews gathered. They’ve been there all week, ever since Tony called a press conference to end the speculation about the Winter Soldier’s identity, whereabouts, and legal status.

At that conference, Pepper had called Bucky a decorated veteran, a national hero, and the world’s longest suffering prisoner of war. Steve had let Bucky watch the video of the conference online. He hadn’t let Bucky read the comments after the video.

Bucky imagines the commentary that will follow his therapists announcing in open court that he was a sex slave with the mentality of a kindergartner. Not for the first time, he wonders if it wouldn’t have been better to drown in the Potomac.

“We can push for a closed trial,” Maria says, though he can tell from her expression that the odds aren’t in their favor. “But there’s arguably a legitimate public interest, given the impact of the assassinations on politics and the weapons industry.”

Bucky shrugs. What’s one more humiliation after seventy years of indignities? “Is that it, then? You just wanted to tell me about the hearing?” He’d rather be back in the playroom hugging onto the bear. And maybe he ought to feel shame for that, but considering the state of his life right now, he’s willing to consider anything that doesn’t involve attempted murder or weapon stockpiling a success.

“There is one more thing.” Maria leans forward again. Bucky can’t read her face. “We’d like your permission to bring in a witness for the defense.”

“Witness?” What do they want, Steve’s testimony on Bucky’s inability to beat in his skull on the helicarriers? An anecdote from one of the Avengers on Bucky’s struggles to tie his shoes unassisted?

“You’re not going to prison, Bucky.” Steve sounds like he’s fighting, although no one’s argued that point. “You’re not. You had no choice in the things HYDRA made you do, and a jury will see that. But—”

“But we know the arguments the prosecution will make,” Maria says. Her voice is much more level than Steve’s. “They’ll have witnesses from the bridge who saw you giving orders and being handed guns, and claim that makes you a willing participant. They’ll point out that you were sent unsupervised on the Acropolis, Nelson, and Stark murders. You went into hiding after Insight failed instead of seeking help, and the prosecution will say that you were trying to reunite with HYDRA.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. His mind is full of screeching tires and crunching metal.

There’s a pause before Maria speaks again. “Which is why we’d like to bring in a witness who saw you in captivity. Someone who can testify as to the way you were controlled.”

He finds his voice. “So who did you get? One of the technicians?” Bucky can’t remember any names, but maybe the personnel was listed in the leaked files.

“Brock Rumlow,” says Maria.

There’s a pause.

“Bucky—” Steve begins.

“He contacted us.” Maria’s still perfectly impassive. It’s not a suggestion; she’s only laying the facts on the table. “He was trying to negotiate a deal with the government—take the stand against you and earn himself a lesser sentence. But any testimony he gave would have highlighted your lack of autonomy, so when that fell through he came to us.”

The only surprising part of that, from what Bucky remembers of the commander, is that Rumlow didn’t just lie for the prosecution. “What does he want in return?”

“Our legal representation for his own trial.”

“No,” Bucky says.

“We’d subpoena him if we could, Bucky.” Steve’s hands are very tight on the chair now. If he clenches much harder, he’ll splinter the armrests. “But without a deal, he’d plead the Fifth on anything that would incriminate him, and that would be any time he was around you. Everyone else we know of who interacted with you is either missing or dead. Rumlow’s all we’ve—”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says.

“Buck—”

“He was a double agent. He lied to your face and he just _watched_ while I was strapped down and tortured. He joined HYDRA willingly. He worked with you for years and then he tried to kill you. More than once. And now I’m supposed to help him walk free? _No_.”

“He wouldn’t walk free, Buck.” Steve has to force his hands to unclench. His face is flushed from stress. “He’d be locked away for years even with—”

“Actually, I’ve looked into his case,” Maria says. “With our team heading his defense, he could get off on probation. Or possibly, off altogether. The circumstances of his arrest weren’t precisely by the book and the right argument could—”

Steve slams one hand down on the table and the wood cracks. “Not helping.”

Maria hasn’t even flinched. “It’s my responsibility to keep my clients fully informed.”

“ _No_.” Bucky crosses his arms and does not shake and tries to look as though he wouldn’t like to hide under the nearest piece of furniture. “I spent seventy years being forced to make the world a worse place. I have choices now. And I’m not going to choose to help Rumlow go free just to make my life better. He tried to kill millions of people.”

“He failed, Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are shining. “He failed and he’ll never get the chance again to—”

“I don’t _care_.” He doesn’t intend to yell, but that’s how it comes out. “I don’t care, Steve. You can’t be so selfish and stupid that you’d let a monster go free just so you can have your friend back.”

“It’s not stupid to want to keep an innocent man out of prison.” Steve’s really flushed now. Almost absently, Bucky thinks that in the days before the serum, his friend would be putting himself at risk of an asthma attack. Steve would probably be happy Bucky can remember that, if Steve weren’t so infuriated.

“It’s selfish. You—you’re supposed to be an example. You’re supposed to do the right thing, not cut deals because it’s your friend’s ass on the line. And maybe you’re okay with abandoning your fucking morals, but it’s _my_ choice. And the answer’s _no_. I’d rather rot in a cell. I’d rather die.”

Steve stands up.

The flinch is so immediate that Bucky doesn’t realize he’s moved until his back is slamming against the wall. He doesn’t feel any pain. He doesn’t feel anything; the hurt and anger radiating from Steve is palpable and it overwhelms his own body’s sensations.

Steve had been on the verge of saying something, but he closes his mouth. Shakes his head. He doesn’t speak until he’s turned his back on Bucky and is already halfway to the door. “I need a minute.”

It isn’t Steve that Bucky watches walk out into the hallway. It’s Alexander Pierce. And when he used to turn his back on the asset, it meant one of two things: he’d return with a belt or he’d stay away for hours until he deigned to spare a hint of affection again.

Steve isn’t Pierce. Steve is nothing like Pierce. Steve would never hurt him.

Bucky knows that. He does. But he’s shaking, rushing toward the opposite door, and his throat is so tight he can hardly form words. “I have to go.”

Maria nods. “I have forty-eight hours to let Rumlow know if we accept the offer.” She’s still so calm.

“I won’t change my mind.”

“Then I’ll tell him no. But I’m waiting two days to do it, all right?”

He isn’t sure if he manages a nod.

*

The air in the penthouse is heavy with citrus and garlic. Pepper has pots and pans going on the stove. It isn’t until now, staring at them, that Bucky remembers tomorrow is Thanksgiving. He imagines sitting at the same table as Steve, making awkward small talk. Not for the first time today, he wants to die.

“James,” Pepper says. James and not Bucky, because JARVIS had announced his presence as “Sergeant Barnes” and James is what Pepper calls him when he’s himself. “It’s good to see you.”

“Are you busy? I can come back.” He isn’t sure why he came to the penthouse to begin with. JARVIS said Steve had taken the elevator downstairs once he left the room, and Bucky had simply gone as far from downstairs as possible.

“No, no, I’m glad you’re here.” Setting her knife down on the cutting board, Pepper steps out of the kitchen. Her hand finds Bucky’s and she’s ushering him toward the stovetop. “Would you mind stirring the cranberry sauce?”

The sauce is thick and dark and simmering. He scrapes the spoon along the sides of the pot, watching in his peripheral vision as Pepper glances between him and the knife on her cutting board. She slips it into the dishwasher, then takes a food processor from one of the cabinets.

“I can go—”

“Don’t be silly.” Pepper’s dumping the partially diced onions into the processor. “I’d prefer doing it this way. Better than crying all over everything.” Then she’s turning the machine on. It’s a loud, ugly noise and neither of them speaks for a minute.

“Thank you,” Bucky says eventually. He’s still staring down into the pot. Some of the cranberries are splitting open. “For the things you said at the press conference. You didn’t have to do that.” He wonders how much Stark Industries’ stocks dropped after the announcement that their CEO was harboring the Winter Soldier, and he bites his lip.

“Here, that looks done,” Pepper says, glancing over at the cranberries. “You can turn off the heat. And you don’t need to thank me, James. I was only being honest.”

She says it so easily, but all he can see as he switches off the burner is a pot full of bubbling blood. “It’ll be bad for your business.”

Pepper just laughs, digging through the refrigerator. “We’ve made it through all of Tony’s antics. This is nothing, I promise. Iron Man’s caused bigger dips in our stocks than the Winter Soldier ever could.”

He doubts that. “Do I need to keep stirring?”

“No, you can just drop the spoon in the sink and—” She pauses, gaze falling to Bucky’s left hand. “How are you at cracking eggs?”

He doesn’t say that cracking eggs was part of HYDRA’s version of physical therapy after they grafted his arm on. He doesn’t say the tests of his fine motor skills and his ability to control pressure only came after they made him use the arm for enough blunt force to crack his then-unenforced sternum like a turkey wishbone. He doesn’t say he remembers feeling his snapped ribs clink around inside him as egg whites dripped out of his fist. All he says is “Fine.”

“Great. There are two eggs in the stuffing, if you want to crack them into that bowl—”

 **PARDON THE INTERRUPTION, MS. POTTS,** JARVIS says. **CAPTAIN ROGERS IS REQUESTING ENTRY.**

The spoon slips from Bucky’s hand into the sink. Redness splatters across the stainless steel. The cabinets below the sink don’t look big enough to hide in.

“James?” Pepper looks concerned but not especially surprised. Right. It’s her legal team. She must know of Rumlow’s offer, and Bucky’s reaction is making it obvious that the conversation regarding the deal didn’t end well. “It’s all right—I can have Steve come back later—”

“No, it’s okay.” Really, it is. This is Steve. For all the ways he’s an idiot, he’s never cruel. There’s nothing to fear from him. Now if only Bucky’s heart would get that message and stop pounding. “Let him in. There’s probably something important he needs to—I’ll go, I’ll take the stairs—”

**CAPTAIN ROGERS IS HERE TO SPEAK WITH YOU, SERGEANT BARNES.**

There’s a chance he can make it through one of Steve’s lectures right now without shattering into pieces. But it’s much more likely that the churning in his stomach would win out and he’d puke on Steve’s shoes as soon as they were in a room together. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

**I’LL PASS YOUR MESSAGE ALONG. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU’D LIKE ME TO CONVEY?**

_The answer’s still no_ comes to mind, but Bucky bites his tongue. JARVIS has enough to do without serving as the mouthpiece for an argument no one’s going to budge on.

“If Steve needs me for anything, I’ll be free later,” Pepper adds. “James, if you want to get that bowl—”

Bucky’s already started toward the stairs.

*

Bucky Bear’s gone.

The playroom—once it was used for storage, but now it’s a playroom—is otherwise exactly as he left it. There’s a toy chest in one corner with a castle of blocks stacked beside it. On the other end of the room is a table with coloring books and Tasha’s half-finished puzzle of the Church on Spilled Blood. One wall is covered with chalkboard paint, and there are slightly smudged drawings of bears and red pandas all over it. The couch and coffee table sit in the center of the room, facing the television. Tasha’s bottle of bubble solution is still resting on the coffee table. Exactly as it was before.

Except now the room is devoid of people. And bears.

Probably Bucky Bear’s with Natasha. He has no idea where Natasha is.

The obvious answer would be to ask JARVIS. Except the adrenaline is just now fading from his body, leaving him drained and trembling, and speaking feels beyond Bucky at the moment. Even thinking about walking around to find her is exhausting. The one thing Bucky thinks himself capable of is crying over the loss of a stuffed bear, and he’s not going to do that. He’s nearly a hundred years old.

He’d give anything to be five right now, but he’s too much of a wreck to pull even _that_ off.

At least, he can’t do it unassisted.

*

Dum-E strokes his claw over Bucky’s hair: once, twice, three times. Bucky sinks against the robot’s body, hugging tight, which makes Dum-E have to twist to keep up the petting. Bucky’s still shaking, but he doesn’t feel like fainting or crying anymore. He’s almost not thinking about fighting with Daddy or losing Bucky Bear now. Eyes closed, holding on, and feeling the metal go warm as it strokes his hair, he’s almost happy.

It doesn’t last.

“Hey kiddo,” Tony says.

Bucky opens his eyes. Both Tony and Bruce are in the lab. He hadn’t seen them when he came in. He hadn’t really looked.

“Hi Bucky,” Bruce says.

He’s supposed to say hello back. It’s rude not to. But his mouth won’t work.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.

Bucky tries to shrug. It’s hard to shrug and hug a robot at the same time.

“Your daddy was looking for you earlier,” Tony says. “Did you want us to get him for you?”

Bucky shakes his head very hard and very fast. It makes him dizzy and he almost smacks into Dum-E’s claw, so he stops pretty quick, but Tony seems to get the message.

“Okay.” There’s only a little pause before Tony speaks again and his voice is still bright. “Wanna see what we’ve been working on? It’s really cool.”

Bucky shakes his head more gently this time, staring down at the floor. Dum-E’s patting his hair again. It helps, but not enough.

“Would you like something to drink?” Bruce asks, and that earns a nod. Bucky’s not especially thirsty, just really tired, but he hasn’t had dinner and his tummy hurts in a sort of hungry, sort of upset way, so he should probably at least drink.

“Okay.” Bruce stands up, starting toward the corner of the lab with a refrigerator. “Hey Bucky, have you ever made soda?”

He looks up, blinks, shakes his head.

Bruce smiles. Well, he was already smiling, but now he smiles more.

Tony coaxes Bucky and Dum-E over to the table before Bruce returns with supplies. He sets them out: two cups—one empty and one with water—a lemon that’s been cut in halves, a very small container with a white powder, and a few packets of sugar.

“Do you know what makes soda fizzy?” Bruce asks.

Bucky tries for an “uh-uh” but even with the stroking and the science, his throat feels frozen. He shakes his head.

“In sodas, you have water and flavoring and a gas called carbon dioxide,” Bruce explains. “The carbon dioxide makes the bubbles. You can make carbon dioxide by mixing an acid and a base. Now lemons are very acidic—that’s what makes them taste so sour. So first, would you squeeze as much juice as you can from the lemon into the empty cup for me?”

He squeezes almost all of the juice out of the lemon halves. Some of it gets on the metal hand, but Tony has damp paper towels waiting.

“Very good. Then, so it’s not too sour to drink, we’ll add the same amount of water.” Bruce slowly pours from one cup into another, and then points to the white powder. “And then we have baking soda, which is a base. Can you pour that in for me?”

He does. Almost immediately, the liquid foams and fizzes.

“Perfect, Bucky.” Bruce nudges one of the packets of sugar toward him. “You can put that in if you think it’s too sour, but you might like it the way it is.”

Bucky takes a sip. It’s like fizzy lemonade. For the first time today since before he found the tear in Bucky Bear’s arm, he smiles.

Two lemons and a lot of paper towels later, Tony and Bruce have their own sodas. Bucky’s finishing his when Bruce has another question. “Are you hungry, Bucky?”

He manages “Uh-huh” and Bruce stands back up, taking the empty cups with him. When he returns, he sets a plate on the table in front of Bucky.

There are six apple slices on the plate.

“If you’re still hungry after that, I can stop by the kitchen,” Bruce is saying. “We don’t have a lot in here, but—”

Bucky doesn’t mean to cry. He doesn’t even know he’s crying until he’s already wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

There are hands on his shoulders then: Tony on his left and Bruce on his right. Dum-E’s still stroking at his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Tony’s asking. “Want me to get you something else?”

Bucky shakes his head. It’s stupid and whiny and _bad_ but he’s still sniffling.

“Bucky,” Bruce says. His voice is always so quiet and nice even when Bucky doesn’t deserve it. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing.” He sniffs. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing that’s upsetting you is stupid.” Bruce is rubbing his shoulder. Tony might be doing the same thing, but the left arm doesn’t feel it as well. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s not how my daddy cuts apples.”

*

Tasha doesn’t have Bucky Bear.

Bucky almost starts crying again when he hears that. But Tasha makes him come in and sit on her bed and gives him her red panda to hug, and that makes things a little bit better.

“Why didn’t you just ask JARVIS where Bucky Bear is?” Tasha asks.

His face goes red and he doesn’t answer. The answer would be _I didn’t think of it_ , and that’s too stupid to say out loud.

 **MASTER BARNES,** JARVIS says at once, **YOUR BEAR IS WITH CAPTAIN ROGERS.**

Bucky starts trembling again. He was bad, so Daddy took his bear. He probably won’t ever get to see him again: either he’ll end up in jail where Bucky Bear isn’t allowed, or Daddy will stop loving him and just not give the bear back. Maybe Daddy’s already stopped loving him. Maybe that was what he wanted to say when Bucky was with Pepper.

“We can sneak in and rescue him,” Tasha says.

“No.”

“You could talk to your daddy,” she says.

“ _No_.”

“I bet Bucky Bear misses you.” Tasha’s voice is loud and blunt like always, but she’s draping her softest, warmest blanket over his shoulders as she talks. “Don’t make him be lonely ‘cause you’re having a stupid fight.”

“It’s not stupid.” He wraps his arms tight around his legs, sandwiching the red panda between his thighs and his chest. The panda doesn’t seem to mind.

“Is so. If I was the one who might get locked up, you’d tell me to let the bad guy help.”

“That’s different.” He’s never argued with Tasha before. He hates arguing. If he does much more of it, he might throw up.

“How come?”

“It just _is_ ,” Bucky says, and he won’t say anything else.

Pretty soon Tasha stops trying to talk to him. She turns the TV on and finds _Doc McStuffins_ , even though Tasha usually says that’s a baby show and they’re both too big for it no matter how old they are. One of his hands slips out from under the blanket and finds hers and even though Tasha thinks he’s being dumb, she doesn’t push him away.

They’re quiet for a long time, watching Doc fix all the toys. She helps Stuffy with his fear of spiders and helps Chilly with his fear of everything. Bucky pretends that his bear is with all the toys in her clinic, singing and getting patched up and not afraid at all.

Bucky isn’t sure how many episodes they watch. It feels like a lot. They only stop because JARVIS tells them it’s time for Bucky to take all his medicine and get some sleep.

“You can take Red Panda with you,” Tasha says as Bucky’s untangling himself from the blankets. “Just for tonight, though.”

“But you need her.”

“I have Mor’du.” Tasha points to the dark brown bear sitting on top of her dresser. Bucky thinks that Clint probably named that toy, or it would be named Bear. Then again, Bucky Bear isn’t really any more creative. Except Bucky didn’t name Bucky Bear, Daddy did.

“Or,” she adds, “you could spend the night.”

“No.” Bucky says it immediately, staring down at the floor. His face feels as red as the panda. “I can’t.”

“You know,” Tasha says, moving Mor’du to sit on her pillows. “You really make a lot of problems for yourself.”

*

He finds Bucky Bear sitting on top of the dryer.

It’s four in the morning. Bucky’s arms are full of bed sheets, his hair still dripping from the shower. Tony always says it’s not possible for Bucky to singlehandedly deplete the tower’s hot water supply, but Tony’s never witnessed just how long Bucky can sulk under the shower head. This morning, he’s pretty sure he came close.

He doesn’t drop the bedclothes to hug onto Bucky Bear. He’s exhausted, drained emotionally and physically. He really ought to have had more by way of dinner than an apple. It’s taking considerable effort to keep from collapsing right where he stands, and the laundry room’s other occupant isn’t helping with that sensation.

“You could have just dropped him off in my room,” Bucky says. It seems a better conversation starter than _Have you been waiting up all night, what the hell is wrong with you?_ Not that there’s going to be a conversation. He closes the space between himself and the washing machine. Once the sheets are in, he’s leaving.

“You said you didn’t want to see me.” Steve’s seated in one of the chairs by the utility sink. Why do they even have chairs? Who in this tower actually sits and waits for their laundry to finish? “I figured you wouldn’t want me going into your room without permission.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, scanning the shelf for his chosen brand of detergent.

“I was going to leave him in your chair at the dinner table,” Steve says, “but you weren’t there. Did you even eat anything?”

He finally spots the detergent, lying in the trash can. Right. He’d exhausted that box two nights ago. Holding in a sigh, Bucky turns toward the closet. “You could have just given him to Pepper or Natasha or someone else to give to me.”

Bucky doesn’t have to look to know that Steve’s face is alight with the dawning realization of hindsight. “I didn’t think of that.”

 _Obviously_ , Bucky does not say, rooting around past bottles of bleach and dryer sheets. “Why did you even _have_ him?” It’s easier than he thought it would be to resist the urge to hug onto Steve for returning Bucky Bear, mostly because it was Steve’s fault he was missing to begin with.

“For you,” Steve says. “Because you were upset and scared. But by the time I got back, you were already with Pepper and you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I didn’t know you had my bear,” Bucky snaps, finally locating the right box. So much for easy to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. It’s too late—too _early_ —for this. Laundry. Just get the machine started and go.

“I would have left him at the table so you could get him at breakfast,” Steve says, “but I figured you’d probably be in here tonight. And I thought you might need him.”

Never in the history of laundering fabric has a box been this hard to open. Bucky considers tearing it apart left-handed, but spilling detergent all over the floor would not be beneficial to the plan of getting out as quickly as possible.

“Do you have to do this every day?” Steve asks. He sounds so _concerned_ , damn him, as if this is the most pressing thing in the world. Bucky’s probably going to jail and various pundits and politicians are calling for Steve’s medals to be taken away for supporting the Winter Soldier, but _this_ is worth focusing on. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”

“You’re really gonna ask that when you never even went to bed?”

“Do your doctors know about this?” is what Steve asks, but it sounds remarkably like _don’t change the subject_. “You don’t get enough sleep as it is, Bucky, there’s got to be a better way to—”

“There is literally nothing I would rather talk about less in the world,” Bucky says, trying very hard not to decimate the washing machine with his left hand. There’s heat through his face. He could collapse right here on the floor. He’d probably be unconscious before he even hit the ground, that’s how tired he is.

“So can we talk about Rumlow?”

Bucky’s sitting down then. It isn’t voluntary: one second he’s standing up and the next he’s on the floor, head slumped against his knees. He hasn’t fallen. His body’s just given up. “No.”

Steve moves from the chair for the first time. Bucky doesn’t look up to track his motions. There are footsteps and the sound of Steve settling down beside him, and then there’s soft fur pressing against his hand. “Here.”

Bucky draws the bear to his chest, squeezing tight. There would be tears of relief down his face if he had the energy to spill them.

Steve’s brushing Bucky’s hair back. “What happened?” he asks. “What did Rumlow do to you?” His voice is soft, soothing. It’s an act. Bucky’s seen him perfect it during the months in the tower. It used to be that Steve’s hands would shake when Bucky recounted memories from HYDRA. The rage and hurt were stark on his face. But that had scared Bucky—he’d been taught through the years that if anyone was upset, it was because of some failure on his part—so Steve had learned to bury those reactions.

Now he’s calm and gentle. But Bucky thinks if he asked for it, Steve would tear Brock Rumlow limb from limb. He thinks Steve would kill for him.

That makes him sick.

“Nothing.” He runs his fingers over the buttons on Bucky Bear’s jacket.

“Buck.”

“Nothing,” Bucky insists, louder this time. “Nothing that any other field agent didn’t do. He—he was almost nice to me.”

Steve starts to protest, but Bucky raises a hand to silence him. “I’m not delusional, all right? Listen. Some of ‘em—there were people who would go out of their way to treat me like shit. Knock me around, yell a lot. They got a kick out of degrading something so powerful, I guess. Rumlow wasn’t like that. He was just there to do his job. And once he made me pancakes.”

“What?”

“I don’t care what happens to Rumlow,” Bucky says. “I don’t. If I tried to be mad at everybody who hurt me, my heart would give out.”

He doesn’t try to gauge Steve’s reaction. His eyes are still on the bear, fingers still rubbing against the little brass buttons. Bucky Bears and Captain Ameribears were both mass-produced at the end of the war, Steve had said. Thousands of children across America had gone to sleep snuggled up to a tiny, fuzzy approximation of James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky could scream.

“Okay,’ Steve says finally. “But if you don’t care what happens to Rumlow, then why—”

“Because I’m guilty.”

Steve doesn’t manage to hide his shock this time. “No. No, Buck—”

“I can remember when I killed Howard and his wife,” Bucky says. “Did I ever tell you that? I can remember that now.” He’s still clinging to the bear, knuckles white, but he isn’t seeing the toy now. His mind’s back on the street with a car charging toward him.

“Bucky—”

“I stepped out in the road, in front of their car. I was supposed to shoot their tires. They had this special gun—I think my files talked about it. It wasn’t loaded with bullets. It was something else, something that would make the damage look accidental. But I never even had to fire.”

There are dark little stains dotting Bucky Bear’s jacket. It takes a moment for Bucky to realize the marks aren’t from the bubbles yesterday. They’re tears.

“I—back then, I didn’t have the mask. That mission was so _confusing_. I got onto the road so far ahead of them. I expected he would slam on his brakes, not swerve. That’s why I stepped out that far up the road—it’s easier to make a shot if the car’s moving predictably. But he looked at me and I’d never seen anyone _look_ like that, and he turned the wheel so hard. I didn’t even have to fire, Steve. I didn’t have to fire because Howard killed himself and his wife trying to keep from hurting me.”

There’s a moment of silence. It occurs to Bucky that he never did start the washing machine.

“And you can say that wasn’t me. That’s what everyone says. I had no choice, I might as well have been sleepwalking. But those people are _dead_ , Steve. And my body was the weapon that killed them. There wouldn’t have been a Winter Soldier without me. If I had just held out—if I hadn’t broken—I don’t _want_ to go jail. But that’s what I deserve. I don’t deserve to be here, sheltered and coddled with doctors and friends and teddy bears. People are dead. There have to be reparations. And I’m the only one who can make them.”

Steve doesn’t speak. He reaches out, arms circling around Bucky and drawing him close. Bucky tries to struggle—there’s no arguing with Steve when his mind’s set on something, and Bucky can’t give in now, he _can’t_ —but there’s no fight left in him. There’s never been enough.

“You can’t make reparation for someone else’s sins, Buck,” he whispers. Bucky feels Steve’s voice against his hair almost more than he hears it. “You said you were their weapon. But that’s all you were. It’s not the gun that goes on trial when someone gets shot.”

“That’s not the same.” He’s getting tears and snot on Steve’s shirt. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, but now it’s all encompassing.

“If it were me,” Steve says, “you’d say it was out of my control.”

“It wasn’t you.” He sounds like a petulant child. He _is_ a petulant child. And the fact that he’s allowed to be one while there’s so much blood on his hands is sickening. “It couldn’t be you. You’re not weak.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s hands are on his face, making him raise his head. “Listen to me, all right? Can you listen for me?”

He tries to shake his head, close his eyes, but Steve says “Please, Bucky,” and Bucky has to look even though it hurts.

“I didn’t freeze right when the Valkyrie hit the water,” Steve says. “It took hours, stuck under the ice, cold water slipping in, before I passed out. I’d never been more afraid in my life. Not when my mother was dying, not during Project Rebirth, _never_. And it took hours. I was out of my mind with fear. If there had been an out, no matter how awful—Bucky, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have let HYDRA take me prisoner if it got me out of that plane. And that’s without all the torture and drugs and everything else that they put you through. Anyone can break, Bucky. Anyone. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you bad. The only bad people here are the ones who did those awful things to you in the first place.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Bucky whispers. He closes his eyes, letting his head rest against Steve’s shoulder.

“Then I’ll just have to say it until you do.” Steve pulls his sleeve over his hand, wiping at Bucky’s face. “Here, you want to come lie down on my bed until breakfast? I can put on a movie or read or whatever you want.”

“Didn’t start the laundry yet,” Bucky says. He winces at the stains he’s leaving on Steve’s shirt. “I’m a mess.”

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Steve agrees, but he’s smiling. “So I guess you’ll just have to stay here with me forever, huh? C’mon. Bucky Bear too.”

“We have to get Red Panda,” Bucky says.

“What’s that?”

“Tasha’s panda. She’s on my bed. She was spending the night and she’ll be lonely.”

“We’ll get Red Panda,” Steve promises, nudging Bucky up. “Just give me a second to start the washing machine, all right?”

“It’s almost daytime.” Bucky usually gets up at six. It’s part of the sleep schedule his doctors came up with. “I can’t sleep in. The doctors don’t like it.” Usually that’s not a problem because he can almost never fall back asleep once he’s already up. But he’s half-asleep just standing here. Crying a lot does that.

“Your doctors can make an exception for one day, Bucky. And if they get annoyed about it, tell them they can take their complaints to your daddy, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Later, when it’s daytime, Bucky calls Maria and says Rumlow’s allowed to help. But before that, Daddy lets him sleep in until noon.

**Author's Note:**

> I commissioned a beautiful piece of art depicting the laundry room scene of this fic, which [can be viewed here.](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/post/123761145291/wingedcorgi-there-are-footsteps-and-the-sound)
> 
> Competency to stand trial is usually determined by face to face interviews and evaluations, but Bucky’s interview by computer is real. That method is known as the Computer-Assisted Determination of Competency to Proceed (CADCOMP).
> 
> [The Church on Spilled Blood](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Church_of_the_Savior_on_Blood) (also known as the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood) is a cathedral in St. Petersburg in Russia. It’s a popular tourist attraction due to the architecture and decorations inside and out.
> 
> It really is possible to [make your own lemon soda](http://www.sciencekids.co.nz/experiments/lemonade.html) with just lemons, water, and baking soda.
> 
> As established in _‘Till the End of the Line_ , Steve slices apples into [bunny](http://japanesefood.about.com/od/howtocook/ss/how_to_make_apple_rabbits.htm) or [swan](http://www.instructables.com/id/Make-an-Edible-Apple-Swan/) shapes.
> 
>  _[Doc McStuffins](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doc_McStuffins)_ is a cartoon on Disney Junior about a little girl who acts as a doctor for stuffed animals. Mor’du is the name of the bear in Pixar’s _[Brave.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_\(2012_film\))_


End file.
